Lion's Roar
by Sunruner
Summary: A series of vignettes and one-shots dealing with the 19th century struggle for Italian independence, North and South. Dark Hetalia. Sex, Violence. Historical crit. always welcome. Vignette 1: The Marriage of Lombardy-Venezia.
1. Lombardy-Venezia: One of Three

**Rest Calm, Zun Dada**

**Eey, time to try the Unification Fic again! Exact same time-line as my Selfcest piece "Road to Rome". 19****th**** century Italy!**

**I've given up on trying to form a coherent story with all the narrative gaps filled in, so I think a couple vignettes all collected here will make more sense. Will focus primarily on Italy Veneziano, but I expect chapters from Romano to show up later as well.**

**As a reference, my headcanon is that Nyo!Italy and Nyo!Romano are the kingdoms of Sardinia and Sicily respectively.**

**First vignette: Lombardy-Venezia!**

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_**Lombardy-Venezia**_

One of Three

_1815-1816..._

_'Today is a good day.'_ He told himself, looking at his reflection in the tall mirror Miss Hungary had brought into the room for him to use. _'Smiling should be easy, don't be so nervous, Veneziano!_'

Smiling at his reflection, it didn't work very well with his own eyes watching the glass, but when he closed them Veneziano felt his smile settle naturally on his lips, he could feel the tension seep out of his jaw so he wasn't clenching his teeth quite so hard. But they were still clenched, and he was still tense, and he didn't want to do this.

"Ita~?" Oh! Hungary! Spinning around quickly when he heard part of his name from the doorway, Veneziano kept his smile on and clasped his hands behind his back innocently.

"Ve~ Is it that time already? I was hoping-"

"Oh! You look so _handsome!_" Miss Hungary was so sweet, Veneziano had always liked her even when she'd made him dress up in her clothes and put flowers in his hair. He hadn't minded at the time, he'd really liked the colours and it hadn't mattered if he got his skirts dirty or torn or not- they weren't his. He just hoped, watching Hungary burst into his small servant's room, that she wasn't going to try suggesting it again. It had been cute when he was small, but now that his voice had broken it just wasn't right!

He was getting married, but Veneziano did _not_ want to be the bride... He was happier in the long blue coat and white waistcoat Austria had ordered made for him, the cornflower britches and white stockings fitting well as he hadn't quite finished with his shoes yet. A blue ribbon held back the short tail of his auburn hair behind his head, a white cravat- just a knot of white silk, not lace, was bound under his chin.

"My little Vene, all grown up!" Hungary had a hard time with the first part of his name: she had a habit of pronouncing it _Vinny_ instead of Vene, which was cute except for when it wasn't, which was becoming more and more often. But he liked Hungary very much, she was so sweet and kind and had always treated him nicely. And at least she wasn't calling him '_Vinnyshano_' today...! "Lombardy is so lucky! Turn around and let me get a good look at you!"

Haha, Lombardy... Veneziano told himself not to clench his teeth and forced his hands to stop gripping his wrists so hard- he'd wrinkled the cuffs if he didn't stop. He turned for Hungary and let her coo and clap and look oh-so thrilled with the way he looked.

For herself, Miss Hungary looked very pretty in the peach-coloured gown she was wearing, red silk roses attached to the front under her bust while the layers of cloth fell down around her body- like sheets of gossamer from those old, old fairy tales... Her sandy brown hair was done up neatly behind her head, a deep magenta flower tucked behind her ear- probably a gift from Austria.

"Ah! Your hair is all a mess in the back, Ita!" It was? Reaching up quickly to check, he couldn't keep the disappointment off his face when his fingers touched rolls and twists instead of the simple straight lengths he'd tried to brush out. It had been nicer when his hair was a bit shorter... "Quick! Quick! Sit down and I'll fix it for you!"

"Uh- but Miss Hungry I can brush my own-"

"No! No! No!" She pouted, stomping her foot on the floor and pushing him over to the bed, forcing the young Italian to sit down. "After today you'll be a new nation! My little _Vinny-"_ Vene! "-will be all grown up and I won't have any excuse! _Oh,_ I used to brush your hair all the time when you were little and now Lombardy-"

Veneziano would dine with England before he'd let Lombardy touch his hair.

"You don't have to worry." Was all he said. It was all he had to say as Hungary removed the ribbon and began brushing out the auburn locks. She chuckled behind him while she worked.

"Oho~ I know you two have fought a few times, but I thought France helped calm you down?" By making them a Kingdom? Veneziano closed his eyes and tried to ignore everything that was happening to him, refusing to throw a tantrum over how unfair it all was.

"France thought it was funny to make us live together, I thought Mr. Austria would see that!" But instead, now that Napoleon was gone, Veneziano had been told he had to _stay_ with Lombardy- and this time it was a marriage! Him! Married! To _Lombardy!_ Why did everything with the Habsburgs have to end with marriage?

Veneziano liked weddings, he really really did, but not like this, he didn't want this to be his wedding. But he knew he wasn't going to get the one he'd always wanted either...

He let himself clench his teeth this time, not trying to smile. He had a _lot_ to thank France for. First for what he'd done to the Holy Roman Empire, and now for the ideas he'd given Austria about Lombardy... Big brother was a big jerk.

But at least Hungary's hands felt nice in his hair, so Veneziano focused on that instead. She wasn't trying to braid it, was she? No, she was just combing her fingers through the slightly-too-short strands so the ribbon could go around neatly. But she was combing higher and higher, her rounded nails grazing his scalp. It felt _really_ nice...

"You've always had such soft hands…" He didn't feel quite so bad if he thought about Hungary instead. He actually started feeling _better_ if he just forgot about the wedding completely. If he was just going to church then he could see all of his brothers and sisters(Lombardy sadly included), there would be Naples and Sardinia and Sicily and everyone else, including the Papal States!

Maybe Papa would stop this stupid thing from happening! It was worth a shot to try asking, right?

"And you, _Vinnyshano__,_have such messy hair!" _Ve_-_ne_-_cha_-_no_... He mouthed the proper pronunciation silently and then felt something... strange.

"Eey!" He jumped when Hungary's hand touched his hair again, making the strange feeling much stronger. What was that? Since when did that happen?

"Hold still, silly!" Y-Yes, he would... "This one stubborn curl, it's always been-"

"_Santa Maria-!_" She touched it again, her soft finger curling around the strands of red hanging next to his ear, her skin dragging down the length and causing a sharp bolt of _something_ to arc across his scalp, down his spine and straight to his- "_D-D-Don't!_"

"Italy?" He jumped off the bed and clamped both hands over his mouth, Veneziano doing everything in his power not to turn around as a furious red blush covered his face. That feeling! It-

_Hungary on her back under him, her soft wrists pinned beneath his hands while her pink lips opened against his. Her slender legs spread around his hips while he dragged those sheer skirts up and watched her blush rise with the exposure. When he was a child he'd bathed next to her but he'd never wondered about those feminine curves and swells that made up her body, that would all change if he just-_

"Vinny?"

"_I__ think__ the__ carriage__ is__ here__-!"_ Run! Run away! He was sprinting for the door and still yelling as he hit the wall and kept going._ "__I'll__ go__ find__ Austria!"_ He just had to get away! He had to retreat as far away and fast as he could and not look back! He didn't care if Miss Hungary called him he had to get away and he ran, ran, ran!

_'What was that!?_' He didn't know! That had never happened before! Veneziano was three flights of stairs and two left turns from his room before he stopped running through the house, panting slightly with his back pressed against the wall between two massive portraits. _'Think of- think- um, Lombardy!'_

_Uuugh..._

He felt a little calmer just with that, and after a few moments Veneziano stared at the red curl hovering next to his head, very carefully reaching out to it. His knees went funny as soon as he touched it though, a weak sound climbing out of his throat before he smacked his hand over his lips again. Was this what it meant to grow up? How vulgar!

It had always felt _good_, his curl, it was something special from Grandpa Rome. It had always felt nice if someone touched it, he'd always loved brushing his hair- why else would he have let Miss Hungary do it so often for him? But feeling _good _and feeling _that_ were very, very different things...

_'Lombardy can't know.'_ No! Lombardy could never find out! It would be way too embarrassing! He'd just... never, ever touch it? Well, maybe not _ever..._

"Italy?" Mm!

"Mr. Austria!" Standing up straight as the master of the house approached, Veneziano may have been dressed up nicely today but he was still a servant... Austria's clothing wasn't much different from normal, at least not in style, but his waistcoat was a deep goldenrod instead of the usual blue, the vest underneath it a glossy black- he was drawing attention to the colours of his national flag. With his thin spectacles balanced on his face, the tall aristocrat with his wide round chin kept his head forever tilted like he was looking down his rounded nose at the world.

"Italy, what have you done with your hair? It isn't proper to keep it down." The teenager's hand flew up to his hair again, embarrassed as he found his fingers tangling with the loose strands: he hadn't let Hungary finish tying the ribbon in place.

"Ah... _yes_... I-" The master scowled at him and Veneziano flinched back.

"Do not speak _that_ language in this house, boy." He hadn't even felt the _'si_' leave his lips instead of the Germanic '_da'_. "You know better." Even on a day like today, Mr. Austria wouldn't let him get away with even a little bit of freedom...

"_S_- I mean yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." But a meek apology was all he really needed to be forgiven, which was nice in a way.

"Now where's Hungary? We should get going, the Papal States won't tolerate starting late but we can't have a wedding without a groom." At least that meant Veneziano wasn't the bride, but he flinched a little just the same and, despite already being scolded once, he made one final plea.

"Mr. Austria, sir, is this really necessary? I mean, sir, is there no other way-?" The stare Austria gave him was incredulous, and a little bit threatening.

"You're a Habsburg now, boy." Austria scoffed, his tone dismissive as he pulled a pair of clean white gloves out of his pocket and tugged them on, striding past Veneziano, knowing he'd follow. "Let others wage war, but you, happy Italy, marry. Tie back your hair and lets go."

"...Yes, sir."

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_'I really don't like him...'_ A chance to go home was rarely given by Austria, so Veneziano took full advantage as soon as it was offered. He wasn't sure what _exactly_ Austria had thought would happen when he sent the two of them off together after the ceremony in Vienna, but as soon as their carriage had come to the first junction on the road south, Lombardy had made it very clear that they were not going to spend the next two months together.

It was a waste of money for Lombardy to charter a second carriage for himself before they'd even left Austria's formal territory, but Veneziano hadn't argued. Now there were _two_ carriages rattling through the low lands along the same road, but Veneziano was willing to spend the money if it meant not having to ride facing his little brother. Or, better yet: if it meant not having to ride facing his little brother who was annoyed that Veneziano _wouldn't spend the money_ to get him his own carriage.

"There has to be a good reason for this, it's not just because we're both owned by Austria..." He reasoned to himself, thinking out loud because it made the carriage feel less empty. "I mean, Lombardy's very good at all kinds of things, and I'm good at things, so we're both very talented and it's a very good match. Our people will be happy. Or something_...!_" Facts didn't change anything, they didn't change the fact that he was in a union with his brother, a union that was going to be spent with the two of them living closely together in Austria's house. At least he still got to see Venice, at least he got to _keep_ Venice...

If Veneziano's capitol was moved to Milan, he'd scream. Changing Lombardy's capitol to Venice wouldn't help things either: then he'd _never_ get away from the interior province. Lombardy wasn't bad when there was someone else around, then Veneziano could handle him and not feel the crushing urge to bop his little brother on the head, or pinch him sharply around the mouth, or throw things at him, but as soon as they were alone together he just couldn't keep himself under control.

And now he was _married_ to-

"_Aaagh! The only way it'd be worse is if I'd married Austria!"_ Because that really would have been worse! That would have been impossible! He couldn't marry Austria! He couldn't! He _wouldn't!_

"I am not a Habsburg!" The driver must have thought he was insane, sitting in here yelling at nothing. "My name is Feliciano Vargas and I _am not a Habsburg!_" He wasn't Austrian! He was Italian! He was a descendant of Rome! He'd controlled the entire eastern Mediterranean with his empire- at least he had until stupid Ottoman Empire had decided to take the Morea, and after that everything had fallen apart! He'd been doing so well and then Big Brother France had come out of nowhere and-!

Stop it, _stop it_- if he kept thinking about it he'd just end up even more upset than he already was. Veneziano collapsed back on his seat and placed his hands over his face, muffling his sobs and trying to wipe the hot tears out of his eyes.

He'd grown greedy like Nonno Roma: that was why this had happened. He was lucky he'd just been taken into Austria's house instead of dying the way Nonno had. Veneziano's ships had been smashed and his paintings had been seized, but it wasn't like what happened to Grandpa. And he'd only had to marry Lombardy, not Austria himself, which was good because... because...

"Because if his boss had told him to, he would have forced me to marry him...!" And then Veneziano wouldn't have been in a carriage bound for Venice, and Lombardy wouldn't be on his way to Milan. He didn't know where his brother would be but Veneziano would still be in Vienna and he'd probably... Actually, he didn't know what Austria would expect, or want, or allow, Veneziano didn't _want_ to think about it...

"I don't get it..." Slowly tipping over on the plush velvet bench, the carriage rocked back and forth as Veneziano curled up on his side, one arm bent under his head, mindful of the hypersensitive curl bobbing over his eye. "Lombardy's so small... He looks just like he did in the fifteenth century..." And Tuscany had been short too, with his curly black hair and soft brown eyes, he'd been poking Lucca until the other Italian child had started hitting him, and then they'd tussled on the floor until Sardinia made them stop. Their sister was one of the only ones who'd changed at all, and she was still a lot shorter than Veneziano was- she looked thirteen? Maybe fourteen? Pomera looked like he was eleven...

Blonde little Lombardy looked like he was _nine..._

They were all so small... No wonder everyone picks on them. They'd been fine until the other nations began to notice them for something other than art or trade: Ottoman Empire, France, Spain, Austria... They'd been doing just fine on their own for centuries and then everything had started going wrong.

"I... I think I hate it..."

Hate was not a word Veneziano liked to use. It was a very strong word, too strong. He might have said that he hated how his empire had collapsed, but hate was a very strong word for it. He didn't _like_ losing his territories and being made to hurt so much, but he also knew he'd done things to make the Ottoman Empire made at him- it wasn't hard to think of examples. If he hadn't done those things and the Turks had stilled attacked like that then maybe he would use the word hate, but Veneziano knew better.

"I hate it..."

He didn't hate Austria. He was scared of him, but he respected him sometimes too: how could someone play such beautiful music and really be so bad? So no, he didn't hate Austria. And he didn't hate Miss Hungary either- he _couldn't_ hate her, even if she embarrassed him so much...

"I _hate_ it..."

He didn't... like... Lombardy. He did not like him. He did not want to like him. Veneziano did not like Lombardy, but he didn't hate _him_ either.

"I hate..."

He hated having only two months to go home. He hadn't been within his own borders for years and now he was only going to be allowed to stay for two months. He hated having no control over the taxes on his people or the products passing through his ports, he hated not knowing what was going on or what other nations were thinking or doing. He hated being stuck inside that great big house all the time with no one but Miss Hungary and Mr. Austria to talk to. The only person who had made it tolerable was gone now, ten long, long years gone...

"I wish..." He'd lost the only person he'd wanted to keep near. He'd lost the one person who had made everything about that house seem alright. And not only had he lost that person, but Veneziano had _rejected _him...

If he hadn't done that, would _he_ still be alive? Would Veneziano have been enough to make the difference- or would they both be dead now, not just the one person he'd wanted to keep close in his heart?

_'Even at my strongest... was I still too weak?' _Holy Rome... _'Even at my greatest... was I still too small?'_ They were all so small, all of the Italian brothers and sisters, they were all so small- so useless? Yes, useless. They were too useless to be any good to the nations that controlled them. They weren't even like wards, they weren't really children, they were more like pets.

Pets with leashes and fences and owners. Owners who fed and looked after them, owners who expected obedience like Mr. Austria. And who expected compliance like Mr. Spain. And who expected companionship like Miss Hungary. And who expected... whatever France had expected...

Italy was Europe's _pet._

"_No__!_" Maybe he was just hungry, maybe that was where these bad thoughts were coming from!

Sitting up quickly, Veneziano rifled around in the carriage looking for the basket of goodies he knew Hungary had given them for the trip south. He'd given the actual basket to Lombardy so he wouldn't complain so much, but Veneziano had split up the food and kept some for himself. It wasn't pasta, but there was some of the wedding cake that Austria had made, and fresh fruit with cream that he'd have to eat first before the milk spoiled in the summer heat. Half a roasted rabbit was also bundled up and Veneziano spent some of his time nibbling on the tender meat. He wasn't even that hungry but he made himself drink some of the wine too- straight from the bottle because Lombardy wasn't there and there was no point trying to balance a cup on a bumpy road.

By the time he was completely full, Veneziano was crying again. It wasn't because of his empire, or his marriage, or the fact that he accidentally spilled some of the wine on his new coat. He was crying again because he was a dog in a kennel with some food for a long journey. He was crying because his owners were letting him out so he could run around and burn off some energy before they collected him again and locked him back in the house. So he was crying, and he cried, and he cried, and he cried...

And he hated them.

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**Part 2 is finished but 3 isn't quite there. Updates will be SPORADIC at best.**

**Leave a review? There are a lot of OCs, but because this isn't a full-length fic they won't be terribly important.**

**IF YOU SEE ANY HISTORICAL INACCURACIES, PLEASE I BEG OF YOU PLEASE SAY SOMETHING.**


	2. Lombardy-Venezia: Two of Three

**The Chosen Ones, False King**

**Lots of OCs, but then to make up for it is one of my favourite action sequences.**

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_**Lombardy-Venezia**_

Two of Three

Why go to Venice? That had been the question that started him on this path. Why go to Venice? He'd only have two months there and then he'd have to go back to Austria's house again. What was the point of spending two short little months in his city if he wasn't going to be able to _do_ anything with that time?

It was like breaking fingers to convinced himself of that however, and it really, really hurt. Because in Venice he'd be with his people, he could sing the old songs and he could dance the old dances. He could paint and cook and laugh again, he could talk philosophy and theology, he could pray in his favourite cathedrals and visit the statues and graves of his patron saints. There was so much he could do in Venice and two months was enough time for all of it- if just barely.

Why go to Venice? Where else would he go? Feliciano only had enough food to take him to Venice- or some other small town in Veneto, he didn't have the provisions to travel too far out of his way... Except...

He waited until he changed from the Austrian carriage to the Venetian one, savouring the experience of crossing from Austria's territory into his own. He'd said goodbye to Lombardy on the road two days earlier, and he was still a long way from Venice, but he was _home..._ It felt so wonderful! It would be even better when he arrived in Venice!

But he wasn't going to Venice...

"_Sir._" Was all he said to the driver of the second carriage, the winged lion of Venice emblazoned on the side of the vehicle. The Venetian had looked at the gold in Feliciano's hand and then stared him boldly in the eye. The man had orders, probably from Austrian officials in Venice, but here was Venice himself offering, asking, pleading, for something else.

Humans understood more than they were truly aware of. The man took the gold but he probably would have changed their route even if Feliciano hadn't offered it. Instead of veering east towards Venice, they continued south towards... Ferrara. He flinched when they passed over the border, fighting the urge to cry again as Venice came so close only to pass by beyond the horizon.

"What're you doing here?" Ferrara had bright brown eyes and soft blonde hair, but Feliciano almost passed the laid-back boy on the road where he was laying on his back under an olive tree. Ferrara had a straw hat hanging behind his head and a loose-knit white shirt covering his chest, grey britches hugging his thin legs to the knees. No shoes, he didn't need them, he barely looked up when Feliciano's carriage rattled to a halt.

"Oh, um, just touring..." The carriage was drawn to the side of the road, the driver taking the horses to water while Feliciano awkwardly conversed with his little sibling. Ferrara was so _tiny... _"Is Ravenna-?"

"Don't talk about that jerk." Ferrara's quick reaction almost made Feliciano smile, especially when Ferrara decided it wasn't a worthwhile argument and dropped onto his back again, watching the sky. Those two had lived together during the fifteenth century, they still didn't like each other, and yet the Congress of Vienna... no, don't think about that. "Ve, I'm hungry, you want lunch?"

"Thank you_..._"

They didn't say very much to each other, but they talked. It was tense, awkward and not exactly friendly. But they talked. It was easier when they discussed art- but not easy. It was okay when they considered religion- but not by a lot. And when it unexpectedly came to politics-

"I hate that stupid congress." Ferrara's comment surprised him, so did the harsh, accusing look Feliciano was hit with. Ferrara was usually more inclined to nap than talk politics! "I know you really _like_ Austria but-"

"I don't like Austria!" Oh! That was so rude! Feliciano wanted the words back as soon as he said them, his face heating up as he stuffed another olive in his mouth. Ferrara looked confused but then gave up the conversation, like a goat that had run too far to chase after. The subject seemed dealt with after that, the two of them resuming their silence, going back to chewing. Olives, bread and cheese, it was simple fare but good enough for them right now.

"You were the Kingdom of Italy with Lombardy," Oh, Ferrara still wanted to talk? Okay... "So nothing's changed with you guys becoming Lombardy-Venetia." It seemed he really would have to explain this to everybody:

"Big Brother France was being a jerk when he did that. We both hated it but he thought it was funny."

"So why do you still call him big brother?" Um... Force of habit? "Whatever..." And then there was more awkward silence... Maybe Feliciano should think about leav- "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Um, sure. What is it?" Ferrara was watching him again, a curious, sleepy look in his gold eyes as they moved up and down Feliciano's seated form. It was harmless, but still uncomfortable.

"How'd you get so big?" Huh? "Last I saw you, you were still shorter than I was. Your Republic was so big-" Feliciano flinched "-I mean _really_ big, but you were so tiny. What did Austria do to you?"

"I..." Answer truthfully, or make up something? He got along well enough with Ferrara that maybe it wouldn't matter if he was honest, so why not? "I really don't know. I mean, he took away my trade and my government, I'm not allowed to paint very often and he hits me all the time when he's not happy." And after Holy Rome... well, wait, what if...?

"So... that's it? He just treated you badly and suddenly you grew up?" Ferrara seemed confused, but too sleepy to really argue with him. Feliciano corrected him instead.

"No." No it wasn't Austria that had caused this change in him. Funny how he hadn't thought of this before, but Ferrara was watching him curiously from his spot on the ground, clearly still expecting an answer. Feliciano didn't know why, but he smiled. "Ferrara, have you ever... Have you ever _lost_ someone?"

"Huh? Like a patriot?" No, not like that. Not someone human, someone like... them. "You mean like when Nonno Roma died?"

"Ah... not quite like Nonno... I guess not... that's okay." Ferrara was watching him curiously, his gaze not quiet as sleepy as it had been a few minutes ago. Smiling again, Feliciano reached over and was surprised when Ferrara let him set a hand on the boy's light coloured hair. "Thank you for lunch, Ferrara, but I should be going now. Say hello to Ravenna for me, please?"

"Sure, fine, whatever." And then quiet, several moments where Feliciano removed his hand and stood up slowly, brushing the grass off his coat and britches, waving over in his carriage's direction so the driver would know to start getting ready. It was quiet, just the sound of a summer breeze brushing through the tree branches over their head, the remains of their meal dappled with sunlight.

"_Arrivederci, fratello._"

He didn't keep going south, he wanted to but if he strayed too close to the Papal States he might get in trouble with Austria: Papa would tattle on him for sure. But a few days later he saw Bologna, and Modena was visiting him so it was like two birds with one stone. They both demanded to know why he was there however, Bologna in particular since they were in his territory and it must have looked suspiciously like an attack...

Bologna was very, very skinny, not starved, just without a lot of weight to him. That was sort of how everyone treated him too: like he weighed nothing, like you could just push him aside or hold him down and he wouldn't do anything. He'd always been a bit taller than everyone else, but Feliciano was confused when he found himself looking _down_ at his suddenly-so-much-smaller little brother. Bologna's hair was a bit darker than Feliciano's but had more flip and flare to it, his eyes looked almost blue sometimes but they were actually grey: the more blue they became, the harder it was to push him around.

Modena looked very similar but he was shorter and and darker and rounder than Bologna, so you noticed Modena more than the other, but he still wasn't very strong. Feliciano usually ignored them both unless they encouraged Ferrara to do something stupid around his southern border. Each of his brothers had curls that looked like little triangles hovering next to their heads. Feliciano still towered over them both...

While he was there, and it wasn't for very long, Feliciano had to ask: had either of them ever lost someone they truly loved? They both asked if he meant something like Nonno Roma and Feliciano tried to explain that no, Nonno didn't count, it had to be a different kind of love.

"Is that why you're so tall, Veneziano?" Bologna caught on faster than Modena, but he didn't seem particularly convinced. Embarrassed, all Feliciano could do was wave his hands and try to explain.

"I think so. Someone... someone very important to me died. I cried worse than I did when Nonno died, and it hurt a lot more than when my Republic fell."

"Seriously?" The shorter, rounder brother was far more willing to believe him... "More than what all those bullies did?"

"Liar. I bet he's lying, Modena, don't listen to him!" Despite Bologna's protests, Feliciano was still allowed to clean up, eat and spend the night at his house. In the morning he was even given fresh horses in exchange for the tired ones Austria had given him.

He didn't know if he'd see Sardinia as he moved east across the peninsula, but he was eating up more and more of his two months by travelling around and couldn't afford to go all the way down to Turin looking for his sister.

Feliciano had been gone from Austria for almost four weeks when, suffering with the July heat in the back of his carriage, the entire thing suddenly lurched up onto the side of the road. He wasn't near Sardinia yet; to reach his sister's territory he had to cross Tuscany first, a particularly bratty little brother. The Kingdom cursed as he heard the horses shrieking and the voice of his driver. Still safe inside with the drapes pinned shut, he quickly dropped off his seat and started tearing through the compartments inside the coach.

Austria had given him a pistol before he left: the only thing worse than sea pirates were land bandits. Feliciano swore again when he heard a loud gun-shot and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground outside. Many voices were whooping outside now, horses' hooves beating the dry earth as the carriage itself came to a complete, dead stop. Of course they'd steal the horses, these were _bandits_, not romantic highway men.

If he'd still been in Austria then Feliciano would have been screaming and crying and shaking in his boots begging them not to hurt him. If he'd been in Veneto then he would have been livid with the men outside, the false patriots who thought they could rob their own nation because they felt like it. But he was in Tuscany, and Feliciano was surprised by how _disappointed_ he was instead.

_'I should be scared.'_ What made Tuscany any different from Austria? Feliciano should have been scared out of his wits to be held by foreign men, it didn't matter where they were from. _'I am scared, but I should be showing it.'_ Instead he wasn't crying, and he wasn't screaming. Feliciano didn't want to fling open the door and flop on his belly with his arms up, and he didn't feel like begging them to take everything he owned so long as they didn't shoot him and leave him bleeding in agony in a pool of his own blood-! No.

Instead his hand shook a little around the smooth handle of the pistol, the gun tucked in his lap while he took back his seat and crossed one leg over the other, leaning his elbow on the seat rest. He wanted to bounce his leg a little but kept from doing that, resting his chin on his curled fingers while he caressed the trigger in his lap gently. He was disappointed that they were attacking, he was distressed over what had happened to his driver- he knew the man was dead, there were no groans or muffled words fluttering past the drawn curtain protecting Feliciano from the sunlight. And he was a little bit scared, but-

"Aha- Huh? Where's the girl?" The door on the far side of the carriage was whipped open so hard it almost came off its hinges, Feliciano glancing out of the corner of his eyes to see a scruffy, unwashed Tuscan man standing there with his dirty clothes and a look of sheer disappointment painted across his tanned face.

"What girl?" Had they attacked the wrong coach? Well! This was a good thing then! Feliciano was alright with that; he'd rather deal with men like these than let them harass a good family, and the urge to point the gun at the Tuscan faded with this information. He was pretty relieved, actually: the pistol only had one barrel and Feliciano hadn't found the additional powder or bullets in his frenzied search. He only had one shot, so if he used it it would have to count for something.

"This is a wedding coach!" Oh, he didn't want to hear that. The Tuscan looked mad now. "But you're nothing but a boy! Where's your bride and the gifts?" Gifts? Feliciano was wearing most of them but he didn't say as much. He might as well answer the question though, maybe talk some sense into his attackers- at least this one had bothered to open the carriage and take a look inside instead of just shooting.

"My spouse went home, I'm going to visit my brother in Florence." He really didn't want to go all the way to Florence, but it was better than explaining-

"A Venetian in Florence?" The Venetian city crest was probably still visible on the side of the coach, and even if it wasn't, Feliciano's accent would have given it away. "Hah! You Habsburgs are all-"

_BANG._

Well, at least the shot counted. Smoke bloomed out the back of the pistol and stained his white glove, but it served Tuscany right for attacking him: he was _not_ a Habsburg.

It all came together very quickly in Feliciano's mind: there was no one to call for help and he couldn't run if his enemies were on horseback. Surrender wouldn't help since he'd just killed one of them- he probably could have handled that better... But if he didn't defend himself then-

He could hear them.

Whipping the carriage door on his side open, it collided with a heavy body before he slammed it shut again. Dropping out of his seat, an arm speared through the window with a knife and impaled the side of the carriage where his neck had just been. Feliciano grabbed the offending wrist before it could pull back, jerking down and wrestling for the knife until his attacker was half-way through the window from all the fighting.

The empty pistol split the man's brow when Feliciano whipped him with the butt-end, finally wresting the knife free and trading it for the gun. The bandit was dazed and his own gun belt was exposed where he was tangled in the velvet curtains, Feliciano relieving him of the double-barrel pistol and pointing it through the open door on the other side of the carriage.

_Bang!_

There was so much smoke from two gunshots, but he still saw the man he'd aimed for crumple on the ground clutching his chest. When he had to shoot, his aim was good.

_'I'm sick of this!'_ The thought struck him out of nowhere, ill-timed and useless as Feliciano jumped up and slammed his hand through the closed sun-roof over his head. _'I'm so sick of us fighting all the time!'_

Hoisting himself up into the sunlight with both arms, the open air was buzzing with heat and hoof-beats as the Venetian kept his head down and quickly dropped off the top of the coach- avoiding at least one loud gunshot as he landed on the dry grass. He should have asked Austria for a sword-!

There were five- six? Damn it he couldn't tell and as soon as his eyes adjusted to the bright light Feliciano twisted away from an incoming sword-blade. His attacker over-reached and lost his balance as the nation grabbed the human's wrist, holding the forearm before his fist mashed the outside of the elbow and broke the limb. The knife found its way into the screaming man's throat and was left there, the Venetian going for the dropped sword instead.

Old, notched, and badly cared for; the sabre still did its job as he turned toward the sound of hoof-beats and ducked. He slashed the animal's underbelly trying to sever the saddle and knock off the rider whose gunshot missed, wounding the animal as the horse shrieked and only ran a few more yards before refusing to obey its rider. He didn't see where they went as he turned to deal with another bandit running straight for him.

The swords collided in mid-swing, Feliciano parrying the other blade and keeping the stolen pistol in his left hand, quickly advancing three, four, five steps after his retreating opponent. The man had no style, he'd probably taken the sword off a dead soldier rather than earned it himself through the Tuscan army. When the bandit struck out again Feliciano let the tip glide down his own sword until the large medallion over his hand protected his fingers, knocking the weapon aside and thrusting with one powerful step.

"_Shit!" _His strike only missed because someone else shot him in the back. Pain erupted in his chest like a net cast around his lungs and gut, the fierce sensation white hot and burning straight through his fear. Furious, Feliciano let his swear carry him into another attack, slashing twice and chasing the coward who was too stunned to fight back and too horrified by Feliciano's endurance to stand there: the bastard turned away to run and the Venetian pointed the pistol after him.

_Bang!_

He watched the bandit go down but felt another blast of pain rip through his back and side, his flesh ripping away from the bones. He dropped the empty pistol and stumbled slightly as the blood came spilling down his back, staining his ruined jacket and running hot and red down his leg. His new clothes...!

"Fall already! Stubborn Habsburg!" His chest was on fire, Feliciano certainly _wanted_ to just lay down and let the pain go away. He'd let himself just slip into the dreamless abyss, the almost-death that their kind escaped to whenever the pain became too much for these flesh-like bodies. He could already taste the thick copper welling up in the back of his throat from his shredded lungs...

"_I... I am not-_" He was not a Habsburg, he was not Austrian, and Feliciano was getting _sick_ and _tired_ of having to say so. When he turned around and saw the man he'd tried to unhorse fumbling to reload the rifle that had already hit him twice, Feliciano fixed his grip on the sabre clutched in his right hand. The blade was red with horse's blood, but that didn't seem fair after the trouble these men had caused him.

"I am _not_ a Habsburg-!_"_ A human could not run with his injuries, but he was half of Lombardy-Venetia and Feliciano Vargas _could_ make his body charge one more time. The stolen weapon was pulled back behind him as he pounded the dry grass under his feet and flew fast enough to stun the predator who was still re-loading his rifle.

"_I__am __**Italian!**__" _And he was so sick of _fighting-!_

_BANG!_

* * *

**To quote from TVTropes: "**Italy isn't physically weak, but the enemy is scary and pasta is delicious, and there's a pretty girl over there." **So if you take away the pasta and give him nowhere to run when there are no pretty girls around, you get a lot of dead bandits on the side of a Tuscan road.**

**If you read it, review it? What did you think of the fight?**


	3. Lombardy-Venezia: Three of Three

**False King, The Chosen Ones, Written in the Stars**

**I wasn't working on this, I just kept forgetting to post it, sorry!**

* * *

**_Lombardy-Venezia_**

Three Of Three

_He slept..._

_He slept and dreamed..._

_A throne? It was a beautiful thing, made of gold and resting atop a dais. It was reached by two steps draped in beautiful red carpets. Marble columns all around behind it, tall windows letting the light of God shine down over the beautiful designs and lovingly crafted structure._

_Such a beautiful throne, he wanted to touch it..._

* * *

"So, are you alive yet or not?"

Feliciano didn't want to open his eyes yet. The beautiful dream slipped through his fingers like fine sand and he was left with nothing except the words, warm light shining on his face as it took several more moments before he could figure out anything about himself.

"I'm talking to you, Veneziano."

He was laying down. The sheets were soft, smooth, and very sheer- probably silk then. He was in a wealthy house if the mattress under him was stuffed with down instead of straw, and he was quite sure it was. How had he come to a wealthy house? What was the last thing he remembered?

_The haze of blood filling the hot air, the notched, brittle sword shredding instead of slicing as it ripped through leather and wool and cotton and found skin, bone, fat and gut. A ringing in his ears from the heat and the stink of death, a numbness gripping his limbs as the blood spilling from his body brought him down to his knees, then to his face on the scorched earth..._

Right. His carriage had been attacked, his driver killed, his horses stolen, and after killing as many as he could Feliciano had succumbed to his wounds. He'd died in Tuscany, so that meant he was probably...

"You're in Florence, _idiot._"

Where he hadn't wanted to be. _Great..._ He wasn't going to get to see Sardinia after all then, there was no way he'd be able to make it from Florence to Turin and back to Vienna in the time he'd been given... And if he was stuck here with Tuscany then-

"Open your eyes and tell me why you started a fight in my house!" Yes, definitely stuck with Tuscany...

"_They_ attacked _me._" His tongue felt struck to the roof of his mouth, it was hot in here and he must have been asleep for a long time. It took more effort to open his eyes than to speak, but Feliciano was positive there was still dirt in his mouth from when he'd collapsed. "Water?"

"Not until you explain." Fine, be that way, Feliciano wasn't going to beg for basic care. He resolved to just lay there with his eyes closed until he felt strong enough to stand, it wouldn't take too much longer if he was already awake and speaking. "_Don't ignore me!_"

Feliciano gagged and almost sat up straight as a heavy blow to his chest landed squarely on one of his wounds, his eyes snapping open to dusk light and an ornate ceiling painted with cherubs and blue skies. He was confused by the sight of trees until he recognized them as the posts of the bed, sheer curtains draped around the mattress to keep bugs away while he'd slept.

"_Toscana!"_ Why would he do that! Why would he hit him like that? Didn't he look exhausted enough without his brother picking on him for no good reason? What was _wrong_ with their family!

"Hah! Serves you right!" The curtains were parted and Tuscany poked his head through, tousled black hair looking hot in the summer weather. The boy, who looked no older than ten, climbed up on the bed and lifted one foot up like he was going to stomp on Feliciano's chest instead of punching it this time. His red waistcoat was unbuttoned and the boy's boots had the same yellow dust on them from the road Feliciano had been attacked on, but the other nation folded his arms smugly and grinned down at him while Feliciano struggled to try and sit up properly. The pain in his side was intense, but the one in the middle of his chest was making it impossible to breathe. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat you up and send you off to Vienna!"

Feliciano's hand lashed out at that hanging ankle, catching it before Tuscany could perform the stomp and jerking his brother's leg to the side. It hurt to move, it hurt so, so much to fight right now, but the eastern state was upset and if Tuscany reported to Austria then it would only cause him trouble!

"Submit!" He was bigger than Tuscany, he'd grown stronger, he flung the child down on the bed and pinned his leg with the palm of his hand, Feliciano's other elbow coming down right on his brother's throat. Tuscany was rich and Florence was the hub of beauty and culture that Venice had once been, but he wasn't strong, and he wasn't big, and as Feliciano forced as much of his weight as he could on the smaller body, fear flashed on the child's face.

Tiny hands pushed and punched and jabbed but they couldn't reach around him well enough to be effective, and when he tried to kick and squirm Feliciano's other arm was there to stop him.

"God as my witness, Tuscany; attack me again and I'll break your neck." The words came out in a growl, not because he wanted to add pressure to them, but because it was that or stop breathing all together. Giving a harsh shove with both arms, Feliciano pushed his brother right off the edge of the bed, Tuscany hitting the floor with a yelp while the elder brother curled in on himself, resting on his side and trying to control the terrible pain burning through his chest. He'd moved far, far too much...

"S-Son of a bitch! Don't you threaten me in my own house!" Tuscany was shouting, but the boy didn't dare lift himself off the floor where Feliciano could see him. They'd fought enough times in the past that such a decisive win had put the smaller Italian on alert.

"I want food, water, fresh clothes and a good horse." Feliciano also wanted his ribs to set properly and his ears to stop ringing. He wanted the bed to stop spinning around him and prayed for the painted cherubs to stop laughing so loudly at him from the ceiling. He was going to be sick, but he tangled his fingers in the silk sheets and struggled to keep his empty stomach from heaving into the bedding.

"And _I_ want an explanation."

Feliciano's eyes snapped open and he felt a cold chill run down his spine, the nausea swimming in his head and stomach.

That _voice._

"M-My Lord Austria!" Tuscany leaped to his feet at the sound of the German words, the enmity between brothers momentarily forgotten as the boy squeaked out the greeting, terror causing his hands to tremble as he struggle to do up his waistcoat and fix his hair all at once.

No.

No, why was he here?

"You said you weren't coming for another week! That you were delayed in Vienna!" Feliciano lost sight of his brother as Tuscany fled to the other side of the bed, his own back facing the door where he knew his master was standing. Judging by the soft tapping he could hear, the Austrian was still wielding his ebony cane: he'd just arrived.

The whisper of Tuscany's lips kissing the ring on Austria's finger.

The sharp slap of Austria's back-handing the boy after the faithful gesture: punishment for not addressing him in German.

"I am not the one who needs to explain himself." The conversation, just like that, slipped from the different dialects of Italian that the brothers had stubbornly spoken in, to the glutted sounds of Austria's German. "Am I, Veneziano?"

"Master, I only found him on the side of the road! I don't know why he was coming to visit me, he only just woke up and I was going to tell you everything he told me as soon as you got here!" There was no slap this time, only the firm tap of the cane on the stone floor. Feliciano could picture the look Austria hit his brother with, imagining the disdain and the command for silence as if he were the one forced to endure it. A cold, clammy sweat was already misting his forehead and chest as he heard Austria's boots clack against the floor, his hands still tangled in the sheets as he couldn't make himself roll over on the bed.

He couldn't make himself breathe either. All the courage of the road and the anger he'd spent on Tuscany was gone, there was only fear left, he was wallowing in the frightened tears that pricked his eyes. Austria knew he was awake, Feliciano couldn't feign sleep with how tense and hurt his body felt, but his next words were still for the Tuscan:

"These are not the clothes I dressed him in. Where are they?" For the first time since he'd woken up Feliciano looked at the loose sleeve's draped around his arms, noting the rougher weave of the cotton, and the brown stains showing how old the garment was.

"I- I gave them to my staff for washing and mending, sir." Tuscany was shaking so hard Feliciano could hear it, his brother's voice coming from far away in a corner of the room. "He's so big now that none of my clothes would fit him, they belong to one of my ser-"

"They suit him." Feliciano felt a hand come down on his hair and tried not to shudder, sucking in a breath as Austria's hand stayed where it was. "I will dine in the garden and depart in the morning, Tuscany. Make sure everything is to my standards."

"Yes, sir!" It was a dismissal, sharp and simple and something Tuscany stole away with like a candy. Feliciano was alone before he knew it, the fingers in his unwashed hair moving down until they settled against the back of his neck.

"Am I unfair to you, Italy?" Trick question, don't- "Have I razed your cities or enslaved your sons?" His fingers started squeezing, he wasn't choking but- "Are your daughters my playthings to mistreat how I like?" It hurt_-!_

"_Austr-!_" Feliciano found his face being pushed down into the pillow, the silk and down filling his mouth as he struggled to say something. Austria's palm was sealed against the base of his head, pushing his weight down on the back of his skull. His body was twisted around and when Feliciano tried moving his arms it just disturbed every wound on his torso, the gunshots flaring red hot in his mind, painting the paths they'd carved through his body with sharp pain. He couldn't breathe!

"Do not _ever_-"

He kicked and cried out as his lungs began to ache, his neck kinked painfully as he tried to shake his head free of the hold. Air, he needed-

"_-ever_-"

_Austria, please!_

"_-run away again!"_

* * *

Someone, somewhere along the way, had snitched back to Austria. Feliciano didn't have to think very hard about who it was because with his wounds it hurt to think too much. But once he passed the night in a fitful sleep and woke up in only slightly better condition, he found the answer for him downstairs in the morning.

Lombardy.

Lombardy with red, snivelling eyes and a great big welt on the side of his face from Austria's cane.

But Lombardy just the same.

Feliciano just wanted to punch him.

They went from being newly wedded nobles back to servants in the space of a day, because although his fine clothes were mended the way Tuscany had promised, Austria had them packed up and placed in his carriage. Feliciano was dressed in rough cotton and wool like his spouse and brother, and with his torso still bound up trying to keep his tender organs from shifting too much when he moved or spoke, Feliciano also had to ride like a servant on the carriage when it was loaded up to leave Florence.

Tuscany actually looked sorry for him when Feliciano climbed up onto the step at the back of the carriage. He'd have to stand and hold on for the entire journey back to Vienna, wounds be damned, and sympathy right now just made him even more peevish.

But at least he kept his mouth shut when Tuscany stopped dancing around in the courtyard of his villa, because his brother quietly ordered a ball of thick twine be brought over before they left. It was barbaric, but sensible, and Feliciano let his wrists be tied to the brass handles decorating the carriage so that even if he collapsed from the sun and strain, he wouldn't fall off. Austria would have noticed a rope under his arms, so it wasn't worth it to try a more comfortable method of safety.

Nothing was said directly to him before they left. Tuscany was Austria's host and both Feliciano and Lombardy were just more of his servants, it would have been impolite for him to treat them the same as their master, and the tiny child in his red coat and black boots put on all the airs of an old man to bow and scrape and flatter their foreign Prince until Austria was satisfied.

When they finally left Feliciano needed at least an hour of the horses' endless trotting and the jostle and rock of the carriage before he got used to it. The wrist bonds were loose so as long as he could keep standing then he couldn't feel them at all, and he kept himself upright just through sheer determination.

At some point his much shorter companion finally worked up the courage to ask him how he'd injured himself so badly, nevermind what had happened to his nice clothes.

"Bandits…" was all he answered with, and that was when he noticed that they were moving north, yes, but also west…? "Where are we going?" Venice and Vienna beyond it were both to the east, and this was still the wrong direction for Milan too.

Lombardy didn't want to answer him, he just fidgeted around and stared over the side of the carriage instead. He was watching a field of daisies go by in the summer sunlight until Feliciano brought up one leg and kicked him sharply.

"Why are you so mean?" His little brother hissed, his round little face scrunched up in a mean scowl, the baby-fat jiggling in his cheeks as he pursed his link lips trying to look scary instead of just stupid. "We're going to Sardinia. That's where Austria was going when he caught up with me." And then the rest of the story finally followed: that Lombardy had in fact made it to Milan, but then Austria had arrived hoping to use the house for a day simply to rest and resupply, catching him in the process.

Feliciano didn't know what made him more upset: the slim loss that if he hadn't been caught in Tuscany then Austria would have assumed he'd followed orders and gone to Venice like a good pet, or the fact that if he hadn't been caught in Tuscany then Feliciano would still have been found out in Sardinia.

Either way, being tied to a carriage and sweating in servants' clothes under the hot summer sun still hurt him. And the pain came as much from his wounds as it did from the reality that _this_ was how he was going to present himself to Sardinia.

Why hadn't he just gone to Venice like a good pet…?

Maybe God just didn't want to play nicely with him this year, because when their party arrived in Turin with Feliciano sun-drenched and sick with fever, his sister wasn't even in her mainland residence. She was on her Island with her prince and princesses, her human master touring his territories and meeting with his ministers.

"Perhaps next time." Was how Austria dismissed the matter. He was granted an audience and behaved cordially with a King whose nation didn't belong under the black-and-gold of the Eagle, but his visit was brief. Feliciano only had time enough for himself on one day out of three in Turin to pen a letter to his sister, but even that had to be handed over to Austria for inspection before he could leave it with the steward to deliver whenever she returned to the city.

His wrists had barely healed before he was standing back on the edge of the carriage again, this time for the continental journey back to Vienna. 1815, Feliciano decided, was very close to being one of the worst summers of his life.

* * *

**/End of the first Vignette.**

**As I said, there will be multiple others, but most of what I have is currently incomplete and only partially put together.**

**Slap it on Alerts if you'd like, it says Completed for now but that's only until the next installment is ready!**

**Thank you for reading, and if you read it, review it? See you!**


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